


ataraxia

by ivelostmyspectacles



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Assassination Attempt(s), Blood and Injury, Gen, M/M, Pre-Canon, Shooting, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-02
Updated: 2018-08-02
Packaged: 2019-06-20 14:15:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15536064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ivelostmyspectacles/pseuds/ivelostmyspectacles
Summary: “Listen to me, Noct. When I tell you to run, run. Do not stop, no matter what you see. Do not look back, donotwait. If someone grabs you,” he squeezed Noctis’s fingers, still held snugly beneath his own, “do not hesitate. Fight, andrun.”





	ataraxia

Noct turned, and the glass shattered in his hand.

It was the gunfire that sent Ignis into action, however, immediately turning his attention to pulling both him and the prince to the floor. It was a familiar sound, these days– he often accompanied Prompto to his training, and visited the range on his own time as well. _He_ wasn’t the marksman in training, but he knew the basics. Even if he hadn’t, gunfire wasn’t a noise they were like to misinterpret in a setting such as this.

 _“Go,”_ he ordered, a hand in the small of Noctis’s back as he urged him forward, and followed as Noct scrambled under one of the nearest tables.

 _“Shit–_ I need to– I need to get to dad–”

“Clarus and Cor will have the king well in hand,” Ignis said quickly, grabbing a handful of Noctis’s sleeve. It was only then he realized his hands were shaking, and only then did he have to shove down a swell of panic so strong that it threatened to make him sick. An assassination attempt during a meeting of the smaller nations, three weeks after Noctis’s seventeenth birthday. If he stopped to think about it, or stopped to listen to the gunfire still sounding the room, he’d surely tip over into a panic attack that neither of them needed. He had to stay calm, assess the situation, and get Noctis to safety.

Noct turned to look at him, eyes beseeching something Ignis knew he desperately needed to give right now, but found himself freezing instead. There was a thin spray of blood across Noctis’s left cheek, one Ignis barely stopped himself from reaching out to touch because, rationally, he recognized that it was from the broken champagne flute, injuries from the shattering glass that still may have slivers in the wounds, but somehow, the only thing he could find himself saying was “you’re bleeding.”

Reaching to touch the droplets before Ignis could stop him, Noct made a vague noise only a moment later. “It’s just from the glass. I’m not– not hurt.”

He knew, and he knew that they had no time to waste on the superficial injuries. It felt like he’d been staring, internally terrified, at the prince crowded in next to him for far too long. He knew it had only been _seconds_ – there was still sporadic gunfire, there were still people screaming, there was still action around him even as the world fell away– but they needed to _move._

 _Focus, Ignis._ “Do you have weapons in the armiger?” he asked, carefully twitching the tablecloth aside. The room was spacious; the gunfire was echoing. If he could pinpoint a direction, he would know which to take Noct out through, but it seemed a lost cause and a guess was the best he could do.

“No, I… no?!”

“That’s fine.” He was barely listening to what he was even saying. He had to keep talking; he had to keep Noct calm. He had to keep _himself_ calm, nearly dropping the ballpoint pen as he plucked it from his pocket. A sharp twist of the cap from the barrel revealed its function; Ignis had never had use for a hidden blade, but he had been struck into silence when his uncle had presented it to him years ago. _A contingency,_ he had said. For moments like this, Ignis thought wryly, and turned back to Noct to press the small knife into his hand.

“W–what the hell? Why do you even have–?!”

“Because I’m advisor and bodyguard to the Crown Prince of Lucis,” Ignis said sharply, and wrapped Noctis’s fingers around it. “Listen to me, Noct. When I tell you to run, run. Do not stop, no matter what you see. Do not look back, do _not_ wait. If someone grabs you,” he squeezed Noctis’s fingers, still held snugly beneath his own, “do not hesitate. Fight, and _run.”_

“But…” Noct glanced around, at the interior of the white tablecloth and probably imagining what was beyond. Ignis didn’t think he wanted to imagine it. Then the prince looked back and nodded shortly, pressing his lips into a thin line. There was fear on his face. But he nodded, anyway.

“Good,” Ignis praised, smoothing a piece of Noctis’s hair from his face. “We’re going to go out the back.” It would be the exit the king used. “They’ll know we’ll be heading that way, but they’ve likely got reinforcements waiting at the front.” If this was a faction that could infiltrate the Citadel during a high stakes gathering, they would be trained and Ignis couldn’t waste time on the chance of a sloppy defense. “We mean to escape out the garden side, do you understand?”

Another nod.

“Good.” Another glance from their hiding spot. They couldn’t afford to wait any longer. The panic would provide them cover, but the crowd would be thinning and they had to go _now._ “We’re going on three, Noct. Stay low and move fast. Do you understand?” he repeated, and Noct, beautiful, trusting, scared as hell in a way Ignis couldn’t let himself be, _determined_ Noct, nodded again.

Ignis squeezed his fingers, and let go of his hand. “On three, then. One, two…” A shared look, emotion rattling his core before he could draw in a breath to shake it away. They would be fine. Noctis would be fine. He would make certain of it.

This was what he was trained for.

“Three,” he said, and urged Noct into movement.

There had been attempts made on the Caelum’s lives before. Ignis was aware of them, but he had never been witness to one. There had been one for the prince, not including the attack on Tenebrae, and two on the king himself.

Those were only the ones that had happened during Ignis’s service to the king, since he had come here at the age of six. There had been more. Countless assassination attempts made on all of the kings of Lucis, people seeking money and power with no regard to human life. Ignis didn’t understand. He never would.

His ears would be ringing for hours.

“You think the others are alright??” Noct asked, as they fell into step.

“I’m certain.” He wasn’t, but Prompto and Gladio were both more than capable and he had to believe that they were. That they could take care of themselves, and would likely pause to take care of others along the way as well.

“We lost them during the party… don’t know where they were…”

Prompto, gone to take photographs around the room, likely. Gladio, with his father or visiting the ladies. Ignis wasn’t certain. They had split following the speeches; Noct had gone for the food and drinks, and Ignis had followed. He was even more glad that he had, now. If Noctis hadn’t been turning to talk to him, the shattered champagne flute might have been something else entirely, and Ignis didn’t want to think about it.

“They can handle themselves, Noct. It’s us we need worry about now,” he said as they sprinted down the hallways, and it was true. Prompto, Gladio, his uncle, and even the king ceased to matter at the given moment. Only _Noctis_ did. Only getting him to safety did, and only after Ignis managed to do that would he worry in earnest about the others. He couldn’t break focus. He _couldn’t._

“Ign–”

He noticed the man the same time Noct did; an unfamiliar face and a knife in hand. That was easier than a gun, Ignis thought in one second, and the next, he was shoving Noct behind him and falling into defensive position to protect them both. The sting of the knife was muted, the pass of metal over the back of his forearms; he felt it only for a moment and was far more focused on the strangled noise Noctis made in response to it, before Ignis was lunging forward to make a grab for the assailant’s wrist.

“Noct, _go!”_ He ran through the mental map in his head, making another quick decision given the fact that these men were spread further along the Citadel than he had previously imagined. “The study! Go, _now!”_ he ordered, and deflected the man’s arm away from his face.

“But–”

_“Now!”_

Pivoting, Ignis watched Noctis go from the corner of his eye and thought, _good._ Nothing mattered except the prince’s safety. And Ignis’s attention couldn’t be divided if he wanted to win, a painful lesson taught mercilessly by Cor through all of their training. Later, he would thank the Marshal for every lesson each bruise had taught him.

A hand at the back of his jacket; he was pulled off balance and back, enough for him to stagger and then remember to _crouch–_ he dropped and had presence of mind to wrench the button on it free. The fabric jerked. A shift of his arms and he was immediately free, twisting around to grab a flailing sleeve and rush in to wrap around the man's knife hand.

He’d been taught in self defense. All of his training before he’d picked up actual weapons had been hand-to-hand.  It was the first step in their training. But he still felt at a disadvantage here, no daggers or polearms, a hallway composed of a few feet of moving space rather than the maneuverability afforded him in the sparring room. His emotions were also threatening his mental state, the injuries to his arms were bleeding, he’d realized, staining through the white of his shirt. And Noctis. And Noctis–

It was just enough momentum. He heard something pop, forcing the man into submission from an arm lock and didn’t pause. He wrenched the knife free from his hand and straight into his shoulder blade, and then let go to spring back into action and rendezvous with Noct.

But no. He should have rendered him _unconscious._ A ridiculous notion, a mistake made through pain and panic, one Ignis would look back on and cringe because that was _stupid,_ so _stupid–_ and somehow the blow came as a surprise, sending him pitching forward into a tumble he barely caught himself in. A moment of defenselessness, throwing his arms up to protect his face, and then– the familiar crackle of the king’s magic and a flash of bright in the darkened hallway: Noctis, having warped in, slicing the pen knife in an arch across the man’s chest.

Stupid, _so stupid, beautiful_ and _deadly_ in all of his terror–

“Iggy!”

“Noct–”

The punch connected hard. Noct went reeling with a sound Ignis wasn’t like to forget in this lifetime. The pen knife went flying and Ignis’s body moved before he knew what he was doing, throwing his full weight onto the man, knife or no. They both went sprawling, elbows and knees and Ignis clapping both hands over the assailant’s ears as hard as he could, tasting blood in his mouth and coating his hands.

“Run!”

“No!”

 _Foolish!_ The thought left his mind with a gasp of air; something hit his ribs, hard, squeezing the air from his lungs and all he could think was, _he’s lost his knife in the scuffle as well._ It would be a stab wound if he hadn't, and the only unnatural warmth was the one currently soaking into his sleeves.

“Noct, my jacket!”

He didn’t hesitate, only grabbed the discarded blazer and threw it to him.

It wasn’t the jacket he was concerned with, it was what he’d stashed in the pocket on the way from the banquet hall– he wrenched the fork free and slammed it forward with all the strength he had left. The man screamed. Fell back. Ignis didn’t stop to see if he’d hit his mark. He grabbed Noctis’s hand and _ran._

He’d been aiming for the eyes. Gods _please_ let him have hit his mark. He needed a miracle, and he didn’t have the time to pray.

“You’re bleeding…” Noct mumbled.

He was, and he was beginning to suspect that he was also in shock. He couldn’t feel the pain, not like he expected he should have. Right now, it didn’t matter. He shoved Noct into the study and wrenched the doors closed.

“Iggy…”

“I’m fine, Noct,” he said quickly, grabbing a chair to jamb the door. “You– are you?”

“Y–Yeah.”

“Good.” He would check him for injuries, shortly, but the only blood Ignis could see on him was that of the man who’d attacked them. He had to take it at face value. He let himself take it at face value until he had time to stop. A second chair to the second of the double doors, and then he was scrabbling at his belt buckle to take it off.

His hands were covered in blood, as well. He’d only just now noticed. The wounds to his arms would likely need stitches, at least, but he wondered how much of it was actually his. “Noct, I need your belt.”

“My…”

They didn’t have _time._ He turned, falling onto his knees to shove Noctis’s jacket and untucked shirt out of the way.

“What are you doing?”

“Trust me. Hide.” It was an afterthought, one that should have been a forethought. His adrenaline was wearing off, and it sounded like Noct was going into shock right along with him. For a moment, for only that moment, Ignis let himself be actually, acutely _afraid._ “Hide,” he repeated, and went to barricade the hinges with their belts.

“Where am I supposed to–”

The _bang!_ outside the door made his heart drop, and then jump back to his mouth with a noise that he didn’t hear over Noctis’s own yell of surprise. All the better. He grabbed his hand again, dragging him away from the wall. “This way,” he whispered urgently. They had nowhere else to run. They were trapped, here– not that it was any safer out there, meeting who they had in the hallways. They had a line of defense here, at least, and Ignis pulled Noct to the other side of the room. “Behind the books, the corner where we used to read.”

“Oh…”

It was more like a makeshift library now than anything; the study had steadily collected more books and bookcases as they had both shown an interest in reading when they were young. The library was farther away, nestled warmly up on the fifth floor with magnificent windows and glorious quiet. But here… here had been close to the garden, close to where they could read about the starlight and then race outside to experience it. Regis had been accommodating, to convert it for their younger selves and wild fantasies.

Nowadays, it was rarely used, each of them in their own apartments. It was barely a study _or_ a library, these days.

 _Get down,_ he mouthed, determination in his movements as he tucked Noct into the safest, furthest corner he knew. Their reading nook of days long past. Now, he just needed–

Noctis caught his hand when he straightened, holding on tighter when his fingers slipped from the blood. “Where are you going?!”

He held up a finger to signal _a moment_ , and then held the finger to his lips for silence. Noct hesitated, and then let him go. Ignis wanted nothing more than to sit down, sit down and not move again for the rest of the evening, hold Noct in his arms and promise him it would be alright. But in a moment, because at present he focused on carefully moving towards the cabinet at the wall, hoping there was… yes, good. He collected the pens and pencils… and the scissors. After grabbing the paperweight from the study desk, for good measure, he finally sat down next to the prince.

 _Sat_ was relative, he supposed. His legs more or less buckled, and he folded himself haphazardly down next to him partly by way of not being able to stand for a moment longer. He was _exhausted_ , suddenly. He would still fight until the death if he needed… but he hoped he wouldn’t have to.

He would give all he had, but he was slowly becoming terrified that it wasn’t going to be enough this time.

Noct opened his mouth to say something, and then slammed up against his chest instead when there was another round of gunshots. Ignis let him, wrapped an arm around him to hold him there and buried his face in his hair and relished in the warmth of his skin and the fact that he was still _very much alive_. He wanted to placate him: _it’s fine, Noct, it’s fine, we’re going to be fine, you’re going to be fine, I promise, I promise–_

But he didn’t dare open his mouth even with the commotion outside, and he couldn’t promise that, anyway, could he?

“Iggy–”

“Shhh,” he murmured, gently pressing his hand against Noctis’s mouth. He was breathing too loud, too hard, hot air against his knuckles even as he didn’t dare move when the noises outside came to an abrupt stop.

He couldn't let himself believe it was over. Despite the promises he wanted to make Noctis, surely hoping that the danger had been neutralized was a foolish idea… if he let himself believe that, and it _wasn’t_ over… he strained to listen, and to hear past the ringing in his head.

Another few beats of silence, and then a familiar voice. “… you’re safe now.” Loud enough to be heard through the wall and their barricaded doorway, and Ignis felt Noct sag against his chest.

“Cor…” Noct murmured, and then was immediately starting to move, getting to his feet to presumably get the door unblocked and let the Marshal in…

With a tiny, uneasy noise, Ignis grabbed his shirt to pull him back.

“What–”

“Wait.” He cleared his throat and raised his voice. “Twenty-seven, sixteen, nineteen, four.”

“Oh…”

“… Ignis?” Cor’s voice asked, and then continued quickly. “Forty, thirty-three. Is the prince with you?”

Only then did the tension leave his body; the correct response to their code, always rigorous code, meticulously changed in case of breaches with varying responses based on situation. _Thirty-three_ meant all clear, and Ignis knew Cor would sooner give him the wrong code and risk his life than risk the life of any of the royal family. Everything was over. They were safe.

“Yes,” he called weakly, and let Noct go.

He went, unsteady on his legs but _alive,_ beautiful. (how many times had he thought that of him tonight? even in just the past five or so minutes?) “I’m coming, hang on!” The sound of chair legs scraping the floor and fumbling on mechanics. Ignis forced himself to stand again as Noct continued. “Where’s– where’s my dad? Is he okay??”

“We were able to secure the king,” Ignis heard Cor say, and watched as Noct had to stop moving things to brace a hand against the door in relief. Multitudes of emotion he knew Noct would never say out loud, a relationship he longed for with his father but couldn’t have under the face of so many prying eyes. It made Ignis’s heart ache. “He’s fine, Highness.”

“… good,” Noctis mumbled, and reached to free the door hinge.

Cor was immediately there, eyes taking stock of the prince and no doubt cataloguing the details– the injuries, if there were any. Ignis still hadn’t checked. “Are you okay?”

“I’m…” Noct glanced down at himself. His shirt was covered in blood from the spray back of the earlier warp attack. “No, I’m fine, just a few scrapes… Ignis,” he said hurriedly, turning to face him again. “Ignis is hurt, you gotta help him–”

Already, Ignis was shaking his head. He was fine as well. It was nothing a few stitches couldn’t fix, a few stitches and painkillers and some sleep. He was much more concerned about Noctis, and the expression on Cor’s face when the Marshal turned to look at him.

“Ignis…”

“I’m fine,” he murmured.

“You can put those down now, Ignis.”

It took a moment, sluggish as his mind was going now, for him to realize Cor was looking at his _hands._ And then it took another moment to realize his right hand was numb, fingers still clenched so tightly around the handle of the scissors that he no longer had feeling in them. “… oh.”

“We’ve got you,” Cor continued, and Ignis realized dully Cor was trying to _talk him down._ Gentle and unassuming, knowing Ignis wasn’t a threat in normal circumstances but these were anything but. Yes, he supposed, he _was_ a threat… to those who would try to take Noctis away from him. “You’re both safe now.”

“… yes,” he agreed softly.

Letting go of the scissors seemed monumental.

 

Everything seemed to move both too fast and too slow following their rescue. Ignis was only aware of half of it. Truthfully, he wasn’t aware of much anything at all; Crownsguard and Kingsglaive at their door was the tacit permission he needed to let himself give in after the weight of the attack. Physically, and very basely, he was aware that he had been holding Noctis’s hand ever since they had both been ushered to the healer. Part of him still couldn’t let go, and never wanted to.

At some point, he thought the king himself was there, but Ignis was still dazed, disoriented, and on pain medication as he drifted. Noct was still there, too. He thought he heard the king speak, even, but he figured he must have imagined that, too.

“Sleep now, children. You have both done well.”

The hand to his forehead was both comforting, and most certainly a dream.

 

Truly, his injuries could have been far more extensive. He had underestimated the extent of the ones he did have, but they could have been much, much worse. Had their assailant’s knife not gotten lost after Noct had warped in to help, Ignis was very much aware that he could have been requiring a body bag instead of mere stitches.

It hadn’t mattered at the time. It barely even mattered now.

The pain pills were effective, the best money could buy, he supposed, but nothing was going to completely numb the pain without dulling his comprehension as well. Maybe later, something stronger, when he could stomach the idea of not knowing where Noct was at any given moment. He grimaced at the thought– both the idea of letting him out of his sight and the idea that he didn’t _want_ to. _Terrible._

That anxiety wasn’t totally new, however; he expected it would dull back down to an acceptable level, one where Noctis wouldn’t be annoyed with his hovering. For now, he hoped Noct would be patient with him.

Miraculously, Noct was uninjured save the cuts from his champagne glass. He had a mild black eye from the punch as well, but that was the extent of the physical damage and at least Ignis could rest easy in that knowledge. Psychologically… he wasn’t certain where even _he_ stood on that vein. But he wasn’t worried about himself. Only Noct, only ever Noct, and how this was another cycle of trauma that he was now going to have to live with.

 _Terrible,_ he thought again, and then perked up minutely as Noct shifted next to him.

“Specs…”

“How are you feeling, Noct?”

“I’m…” he trailed off, rubbing his eyes. Ignis wanted to tell him to go back to sleep, but didn’t. Not yet. “I’m okay,” Noct continued, dropping his hand back to the mattress to prop himself up. “But I wasn’t hurt, what about you?”

He couldn’t pretend the concern didn’t warm him. “I’m fine,” he said with a tiny smile. It felt too tired, and Noctis frowned.

“You were pretty… out of it, for awhile.”

“I was pretty tired,” Ignis volleyed, gentle and aiming to tease. Aiming to chase that look away from Noctis’s face.

“Yeah, uh… thanks,” Noct mumbled. “I didn’t… I mean, you shouldn’t have…”

 _I should have._ Ignis didn’t say it out loud. What he _did_ say was, “Yes, well, it seems my plan wasn’t as foolproof as I’d hoped.”

“Cor said it was probably the best one, though. They had people waiting outside the main entrance, like you… like you probably figured.” He made a face, and then laid back down. “You couldn’t have known they’d made it to the back, too.”

 _I should_ _have,_ he thought again, but he wouldn’t play the pity card, now or ever. The shame one, however… he would keep to himself, close to his chest, until he was able to accept that he had done everything he could have in the moment. (he could think of ten different things he could have done differently already. but Noct was safe. that was what mattered. that was what _mattered._ )

“D’you remember much, from afterwards?”

Ignis hesitated, and shook his head.

“Didn’t figure. You… they said, when you blocked the knife, the path of it went across both arms? So you’ve got three wounds, one on the right and two on the left. They said you were lucky he didn’t slice your arm completely open.”

It hadn’t seemed so bad at the time, but he’d been rather of a one track mind, too. “Lucky indeed,” he echoed, angling his arms to look at the bandages.

“I dunno how many stitches they gave you,” Noct said. “It seemed like a lot, but I don’t really know. I was crashing pretty hard, too.”

“You should go back to sleep,” Ignis interrupted gently. They both should, but Noctis especially needed the rest.

“Yeah, I will.” He huffed, rolling onto his side. “The guys came to look for us, they’re fine, too.”

Another relief. Ignis let out a breath he wasn’t aware he’d been holding, and let his eyes close. “That’s good to hear. Were either of them injured?”

“Uh uh. I guess Gladio helped take out one of the shooters, though. Not really sure on the details.”

“Right…”

“You held my hand the whole time, you know.”

Now he looked back at the prince, marveling quietly at the tone of his voice and the confirmation of something he had suspected. He could remember the warmth of Noctis’s hand in his following their rescue, even if he hadn’t been able to remember how long it was there for. The whole time. Ignis smiled again, just as faint and a little self-deprecatingly. “I appreciate your tolerance, Noct,” he joked, and Noctis scoffed at the attempt at levity.

“Yeah, like I mind.”

It was painful to shift his arm just so, but he would argue it was worth it in the long run to be able to rest his hand on the mattress, and offer it back to Noct.

Noctis didn't hesitate, taking Ignis’s hand and tangling their fingers together again.

“Thank you, Noct,” he murmured.

“Thank you for… _everything._ For protecting me and staying calm and stuff,” Noctis said shortly, squirming over further into Ignis’s space.

It was even more painstaking to move into a position where he could accomodate– his limbs still didn’t seem to want to work with him, and his eyelids were growing heavier by the moment– but tucking Noct up against his chest was well worth the price. He was warm and lax in his arms as he nestled his head beneath his chin, and Ignis sighed as they both settled.

“Staying calm?” he repeated eventually, lips moving against Noctis’s hair. He would fall asleep like this, he was certain of it. “ _Was_ I calm? It didn’t seem like it.”

“Calmer than me?”

“Mmm.” Ignis squeezed his fingers. That wasn’t anything to thank him for. He’d been panicking on the inside, although he would admit to those details only later, when he wasn’t so comfortable and on the edges of sleep. “You ground me as well, Noct.”

Noct laughed, a short, drowsy noise muffled against Ignis’s shirt. “Ground Ignis Scientia? Not sure that’s possible.”

He huffed an equally short laugh into Noctis’s hair and said nothing. Perhaps it was an answer in itself.

“Go back to sleep, Specs.”

“You ‘s well, Noct,” he mumbled.

Noctis squeezed his hand this time, and Ignis drifted into the solace.

**Author's Note:**

> _ataraxia_   
>  _tranquility of mind, absence of mental disturbance. a state of serene calmness_
> 
>  
> 
>    
> I'm not even sure what prompted this one but boy did it get out of hand.  
>  **SEQUEL:<https://archiveofourown.org/works/15690618>**


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